The novel on the dressing-table was last year’s best seller.
Still…
He poked his hand though the door. Something moved beside him and he quickly turned his head.
He had only a moment to look before the blow fell. But in that moment, before the cap of pain was pulled down over his eyes and ears, blacking out everything, he recognized his assailant.
The cords in the neck stood out, the cheeks were drawn back, exposing the big front teeth, like those of a rat. Indeed the whole aspect—watery magnified eyes, low forehead, tangled dark hair, taut spindle-limbed figure—was that of a cornered rat.
It was the small dark man with glasses.
Chapter Seven
The Shimmering Garment
INCANDESCENT LIGHTS were shining in Carr’s eyes, so bright they made his head ache violently. He jumped about in pain, flapping his arms. It seemed a stupid and degrading thing to be doing, even if he were in pain, so he tried to stop, he tried at least to use his hands to shield his eyes from the merciless light, but he couldn’t. The reason was four ropes tied tight to his wrists and knees. The ropes went up into darkness overhead and were jerking him about, as if he were a puppet.
The ropes turned black, merged with the darkness, disappeared, and collapsed down into something soft and clinging.
Hitching himself up, he realized that he was in his own room, in his own bed, fighting the bedclothes.
He shakily thrust his feet out of bed and sat on the edge of it, waiting for the echoes of his nightmare to stop whirling through his senses, for his skin to lose its hot, tight, tingling feel.
His head ached miserably. Lifting his hand, he felt a large sensitive lump. He recalled the small dark man hitting him.
Pale light was sifting through the window. He got up, went over to the bureau, opened the top drawer. He looked at the three pint bottles of whiskey. He chose the quarter full one, poured himself a drink, downed it, poured another, looked around.
The clothes he had been wearing were uncharacteristically laid out on a chair.
His head began to feel like a whirlpool. He went over and looked out the windows.
But instead of an empty street, open bedroom windows, flapping shades, and the other insignia of dawn, Carr saw a brisk little throng moving along the sidewalks. Windows were mostly lighted and advertisements were blinking. Unwillingly he decided that he must have been unconscious not only last night, but also all of today.
A coolness on his fingers told him that whiskey was dribbling out of the shot glass. He drank it and turned around. A gust of anger at the small dark man (is your friend!) went through him.
Just then he noticed a blank envelope propped up on the mantelpiece. He took it down, snapped on a light, opened it, unfolded the closely scribbled note it contained. It was from Jane.
>I’m sorry about last night. Fred is sorry too, now that he knows who you are. He was hiding in my bedroom and heard the others come in, and he through you were one of them when you came sneaking through.
Don’t try to find me, Carr. It isn’t only that you’d risk your own life. You’d endanger mine. Fred and I are up against an organization that can’t be beaten, only hidden from. If you try to find me, you’ll only spoil my chances.
You want to have a long happy life, get married, be successful, don’t you? You don’t want your future changed, so that you have only a few wretched months or hours ahead of you, before you’re hunted down? Then your only chance is to do what I tell you.
Stay in your room all day. Then arrange your things just as you usually do before going to work in the morning. You must be very exact —a lot depends on it. Above all, burn this letter —on your honor do that. Then dissolve in a glass of water the powders you’ll find on the table beside your bed, and drink them. In a little while you’ll go to sleep and when you wake up, everything will be all right.
Your only chance to get clear of the danger
Still…
He poked his hand though the door. Something moved beside him and he quickly turned his head.
He had only a moment to look before the blow fell. But in that moment, before the cap of pain was pulled down over his eyes and ears, blacking out everything, he recognized his assailant.
The cords in the neck stood out, the cheeks were drawn back, exposing the big front teeth, like those of a rat. Indeed the whole aspect—watery magnified eyes, low forehead, tangled dark hair, taut spindle-limbed figure—was that of a cornered rat.
It was the small dark man with glasses.
Chapter Seven
The Shimmering Garment
INCANDESCENT LIGHTS were shining in Carr’s eyes, so bright they made his head ache violently. He jumped about in pain, flapping his arms. It seemed a stupid and degrading thing to be doing, even if he were in pain, so he tried to stop, he tried at least to use his hands to shield his eyes from the merciless light, but he couldn’t. The reason was four ropes tied tight to his wrists and knees. The ropes went up into darkness overhead and were jerking him about, as if he were a puppet.
The ropes turned black, merged with the darkness, disappeared, and collapsed down into something soft and clinging.
Hitching himself up, he realized that he was in his own room, in his own bed, fighting the bedclothes.
He shakily thrust his feet out of bed and sat on the edge of it, waiting for the echoes of his nightmare to stop whirling through his senses, for his skin to lose its hot, tight, tingling feel.
His head ached miserably. Lifting his hand, he felt a large sensitive lump. He recalled the small dark man hitting him.
Pale light was sifting through the window. He got up, went over to the bureau, opened the top drawer. He looked at the three pint bottles of whiskey. He chose the quarter full one, poured himself a drink, downed it, poured another, looked around.
The clothes he had been wearing were uncharacteristically laid out on a chair.
His head began to feel like a whirlpool. He went over and looked out the windows.
But instead of an empty street, open bedroom windows, flapping shades, and the other insignia of dawn, Carr saw a brisk little throng moving along the sidewalks. Windows were mostly lighted and advertisements were blinking. Unwillingly he decided that he must have been unconscious not only last night, but also all of today.
A coolness on his fingers told him that whiskey was dribbling out of the shot glass. He drank it and turned around. A gust of anger at the small dark man (is your friend!) went through him.
Just then he noticed a blank envelope propped up on the mantelpiece. He took it down, snapped on a light, opened it, unfolded the closely scribbled note it contained. It was from Jane.
>I’m sorry about last night. Fred is sorry too, now that he knows who you are. He was hiding in my bedroom and heard the others come in, and he through you were one of them when you came sneaking through.
Don’t try to find me, Carr. It isn’t only that you’d risk your own life. You’d endanger mine. Fred and I are up against an organization that can’t be beaten, only hidden from. If you try to find me, you’ll only spoil my chances.
You want to have a long happy life, get married, be successful, don’t you? You don’t want your future changed, so that you have only a few wretched months or hours ahead of you, before you’re hunted down? Then your only chance is to do what I tell you.
Stay in your room all day. Then arrange your things just as you usually do before going to work in the morning. You must be very exact —a lot depends on it. Above all, burn this letter —on your honor do that. Then dissolve in a glass of water the powders you’ll find on the table beside your bed, and drink them. In a little while you’ll go to sleep and when you wake up, everything will be all right.
Your only chance to get clear of the danger
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